


Three Acts

by Severina



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Blogathon 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-28
Updated: 2007-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cynthia really needs to learn how to knock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Acts

**Author's Note:**

> Season One through Post Season Five  
> Written for Blogathon 2007, for LJ's tamalinn who requested "Cynthia walking in on Brian and Justin fucking at Kinnetik. Or Ryder. Or Vangard." Well. How about all three?

Cynthia eyes Brian's office warily.

It was unusual for the blinds to be closed, especially after the accusations that went flying around the office when Kip Thomas left. Cynthia didn't know the full story there -- no one did -- but it was clear that certain 'improprieties' were claimed. Personally, she always felt that Thomas was a smug, officious little prick with bad breath and no sense of humour, so she really didn't give his accusations more than a second thought.

She knows Brian. And she knows that coercion just isn't his style.

She checks Brian's calendar to ensure that he's not in a meeting, even though Ryder's out of town and she's got Brian's daily comings and goings memorized and there's no need to check the paper trail. Then she taps lightly on the office door before pushing it open.

And discovers that apparently she might have a handle on the goings, but she certainly doesn't have all his _comings_ memorized.

_Brian pants around his ankles taut ass thrusting shoulder blades rippling long fingers roaming over the blond stretched out on the desk toes curled panting air heavy with sex and sweat and need_

The blond -- who Brian thinks she doesn't know, but whom she is well aware is Justin Taylor, aged 18, son of Jennifer and Craig Taylor, former housemate of Brian, somehow involved in the incident that caused Brian several bruised ribs and an insurance claim for Vicodin, and a cute little thing to boot, because she makes it her job to know these things -- has his eyes squinted shut and hasn't yet noticed her presence.

Brian glances sharply from her to the boy and Cynthia realizes Brian wants to keep it that way. She smiles. She saw the way Brian was looking at him before he noticed her presence, safe with the boy's eyes shut tight so he couldn't see.

If she was a betting woman, she might place odds on this one as a keeper.

She raises the file folder to her face and carefully, quietly backs out of the office, clicking the push-lock on the doorknob in behind her.

She tosses the folder on her desk and fetches a glass of cold water. What she really wants is an industrial sized fan. And a long cold shower.

* * *

Cynthia doesn't mind working late. For Brian.

When Gardner Vance took over the agency, he fired almost every exec they had. He discontinued the company picnic. He raised the employee payable portion of their insurance coverage by 25%. And he made her feel worthless and incompetent.

She wouldn't piss on Vance if he was on fire, but she'd work through to daybreak for Brian. She's pretty sure he wouldn't even have to pay her overtime.

But she'd never tell him that. There are some fabulous pumps at Nordstrom's that she has her eye on.

By the time she finishes, the streetlights outside the building have long been lit, and the cleaners are making their way through the offices. She gathers the paperwork that Brian will need in the morning, steps around Maria's mop bucket, and makes her way briskly to Brian's office. If she speeds all the way home, she might just make it in time for Lost.

Engrossed in thoughts of conspiracy theories and, more importantly, how Kate should throw Jack down on the sand and fuck his brains out (if she was on that island, it would already have happened -- several times), Cynthia has opened Brian's office door and taken two steps inside before the scene before her eyes fully registers.

Clothes, strewn across the floor and onto the desk. Desk blotter upside down in the middle of the room. Lamp, shade crooked, on the floor.

She looks up sharply, to the right, at Brian slumped upright on the sofa, his arms outstretched, his face contorted. And her first thought, crazy though it is (and she knows it's crazy, in the aftermath she's well aware of how ridiculous it was), is that Brian has been attacked. Her next thought, seconds on the heels of the first, is that he's had a stroke, or a heart attack, or…

And then the synapses start firing and she actually _sees_ what's she's seeing --

_Justin kneeling between Brian's legs the long line of his back undulating the pads of his feet his toes gripping the carpet long blond hair swaying gently back and forth with the movement of his head_

\-- and Brian, grinning at her in amusement.

Cynthia cocks her head. Stick her tongue in her cheek. And waves the files.

Brian raises a hand airily toward the desk.

She's not exactly quiet when she slaps them down.

She can hear Justin laughing as she walks down the hall. And she _almost_ considers not telling Maria to skip Mr. Kinney's office. But in the end, she just can't do it.

Besides, having Justin back will make things a hell of a lot easier for her around there.

* * *

When Justin leaves for New York, Cynthia is inconsolable for two entire days.

Brian sulks, and mopes, and pretends that he isn't sulking and moping, which really just makes her want to smack him with a hard-soled shoe. She thinks that if she has to put up with this from Brian for the entire time Justin is gone -- and the ensuing subliminal yet still nauseating _he'll never come back to me he's moving on to bigger and better things waa waa waa_ \-- she just might fly to New York and drag Justin's ass back herself.

Thankfully, Justin is on the phone to Brian on the third day, and from the wood Brian is sporting when he hangs up she judges it a very pleasurable conversation.

She stops worrying after that.

And as expected -- by her, if not by Brian -- Justin arrives home for a visit exactly two weeks later. And two weeks after that. And two weeks after that. Eventually Brian gives up the internal _woe is me_ mantra because Justin's bi-monthly visits are just making it look pathetic.

She is doing her usual three things at once on a Tuesday afternoon when she heads into Brian's office to retrieve the rejected Baton Brew copy and is a little distracted, but sometimes there are things that you just notice.

_Brian's legs spread wide mouth open Justin's taut thighs moving up down up down long fingers splayed across Justin's back head thrown back Brian's dick disappearing into Justin's ass the long lean line of Justin's spine_

Cynthia grins. A surprise mid-week visit. Those were the best kind. She could look forward to at least one early afternoon, and probably tickets to the theatre.

"Guys," she says, "why don't you just buy a bed? It could go in that corner right over there."

"It's…on… order," Justin gasps out.

Cynthia laughs all the way back to her desk.


End file.
